


Headfirst Slide Into a Bad Idea

by ThunderCant



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Bondage, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Fever, Frottage, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant
Summary: Leon, suffering from a head injury and overdose on herbs, has a fantastic idea to stop the Tyrant that’s been dogging his footsteps.





	Headfirst Slide Into a Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! It really means a lot to me- sometimes when I'm at work I'll nip out to read them, just because they give me a little boost through the day. 
> 
> This fanfic was inspired by this tweet by Sabu: https://twitter.com/din0s0re/status/1094467225610641409
> 
> You should check them out because they're amazing at art!

It was frighteningly easy to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that kept saying _you’re an idiot_ after the third mega-herb mix. It wasn’t like Leon had been trying to get fucked up on the plants- every one of them had been necessary, between the zombies, the lickers and the godforsaken Tyrant- but they came with unfortunate side-effects.

One herb was unlikely to cause anything.

Nine herbs, all slammed together like a health-cocktail and swallowed in less than two hours, started with heat. Face flushed and red before the twitching started, which set off the giggling, which made him cover his mouth, which made him giggle even _more_. Elation, giddiness, fever, all swimming around his bloodstream with a hearty kick of painkilling.

If the zombies didn’t kill him, the herb overdose might, but at least he’d be in a much better mood.

Though with the way the side-effects had wormed into his brain and kicked out all the boring things like ‘self-preservation’ and ‘tactics’, zombies were looking _very_ likely.

Leon beamed as he finished fidgeting with a mess of half-frayed wires and storage cases. It was a perfect snare. Tight enough to keep any zombie in place, and rickety enough to drag at least four of the heavy cases on top of them. Sure, if it happened to be a group there’d be an issue, but how would that happen? The zombies were slow, like they’d all shit themselves and were trying to move so that no one would notice. Whichever one was closest would drag them all down.

He nodded, pleased, and sat on the ground. It was pleasant change, after all the running. There was a wall behind him, a trap in front of him, and the herbs still buzzing through him.

And the fever. Leon huffed as if it would get rid of the heat burning in his chest.

It wouldn’t hurt to shut his eyes for a moment and enjoy the cool floor. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t hear something coming.

 

Thump.

Thump.

Snap! Snap!

_Crash!_

Leon rolled over, snorting, coming back to the world with all the grace and dignity of a fratboy after one too many shots. His back was cold and damp with sweat, while the rest of him _burned_ \- it was a full-on fever now, he thought. He could feel his limbs quaking as he pushed himself up to see what his trap caught.

Amid the mess of wires and sharp bits of metal, straining against its bonds, was the Tyrant. Its hat had fallen, resting sadly on the floor, and it kept flicking its gaze towards it. Struggling. And yet somehow, even with all its bulk, the restraints wouldn’t budge.

Mr. X was stuck.

Its arms were loosely tangled above its head, legs spread apart by the trap. Mr. X looked less threatening that way- its shoulders rounded out softly, instead of the wall of muscle Leon was used to. The angle had pushed its chest muscles together. Its coat crinkled ridiculously around it, like a poorly-fitted case on a fat and fluffy pillow.

Leon started snickering at the sight, and that, finally, took Mr. X’s attention away from its hat. The face, which had once been a thing for his nightmares, looked cartoonish with the deep lines and hollow eyes, trying to crease into a frown. Mr X. huffed at Leon. Almost like it was pouting.

And wasn’t that a thought, said the part of Leon’s brain that was still drenched in an overdose. The Tyrant looked vulnerable. Limbs all spread apart, exposing its body for anyone to drink in.

God, he needed a drink.

He was hot, and his limbs were shaking- body still aching but a smile never leaving his face as he approached. Any fear that tried to rise up from his stomach was strangled by everything else in his body, dragging it into a mad dance of chemistry and poor decisions.

“So,” he said, patting a hand on Mr. X’s leg, “I think this is the first time we’ve seen eye to eye.”

Mr. X stared at him. He was cool to the touch.

“Because you’re really tall. You’re like…a wall…but you walk.”

A pause. Mr X’s gaze never left him, following as Leon started to sink, furiously blinking the haze out of his eyes. The cables must have been well tied, if he could put most of his weight on their load.

“Ha…It’s hot.”

He slipped down from its leg to rest against Mr. X’s stomach. Sleep was still calling him, and Mr. X didn’t look like he was going anywhere. So maybe…it would be alright to just…

“Hup!”

Leon swung himself up and landed with a soft ‘oof’, right on Mr. X’s stomach. It was wide enough that Leon’s hips crowed in protest- it was like riding two draft horses at once, and about as comfortable.

Well, astride, anyway. Leon tucked away his discomfort to smile at Mr. X, who kept its stony glare shooting through him.

A big guy tied up with some handsome little thing chatting it up. It was a scene out of his favourite porno.

Though he was sure that most of the performers weren’t feverish. High, maybe, but not feverish.

With a shudder, Leon fell forwards, hands fumbling with the ridiculous trenchcoat until it fell away from Mr. X’s chest. The heat wasn’t slowing down, and he must have been slick with sweat- he’d left trails on the coat. It hung off its arms and shoulders, useless, and Leon pressed his face into the monstrosity’s pecs.

It was a cooling breeze on a warm day wrapped up in muscles and crimes against God. He trembled against its chest, still too hot, too twitchy, and thirsty as hell.

Mr. X strained against its bonds again. Leon, hazy from the heat building up inside him, swatted at his face.

Mr. X’s mouth was cold, as it caught his stray hand between its teeth. Blunt, but strong. Leon craned his head up.

“I have no idea if you broke skin or not.”

Mr. X snorted. Its tongue stirred, dragging along Leon’s boiling fingers like a dog looking for food.

So that was how it wanted to play.

He pushed his fingers further in, stroking along its cold, rough tongue. Mr. X closed around it, sucking, drawing him in.

His neck started to ache, and the world was unpleasantly blurry, but it was fascinating to watch. Mr. X’s harsh, craggy face that was carefully curling around his smaller, pink fingers, teeth scraping, occasionally, carefully.

It really was like the well-loved porno of his dreams. The thought rerouted through his drug-addled mind, past the lava pit of his stomach and straight into his dick.

The fever became more pressing, urgently crawling up his cock and bringing it to attention, trapped in his pants and screaming for some love. Leon grunted, pulling his hand away from Mr. X (who growled), shoving it down to his crotch and releasing his dick.

God, it was freezing against Mr. X’s rigid stomach. But his own heat overpowered it. Leon rolled his hips.

Something caught in Mr. X’s throat. He rolled again and there it was, like something it was trying to hold down. A bulge began nudging up, brushing Leon’s leg as the Tyrant had to deal with the same issue Leon just had.

He laughed, breathless, finally sitting up. The world jerked, sharply.

There were far, far too many sensations swirling inside him. The ice pressing up against his cock, the sweat soaking his uniform, harsh straps and weapons digging at odd angles. His limbs were shaking, and his skin felt hot to the touch.

“We can go back to cat and mouse later,” he panted.

Mr. X’s fly almost took itself down as Leon exposed the monster’s dick, hard and ridged like a marble column. It was lukewarm compared to the rest of his body, but god, Leon needed it like he needed air. He unbuckled the Kevlar and threw off his shirt, finally pressing all of himself against Mr. X. Their cocks pressed together, Leon’s dwarfed by the beast that Mr. X was packing, but the friction welcome nonetheless.

Mr X. groaned. It was like listening to concrete being shoved into a blender. Leon ground his hips down, harder, grip harsh and sweaty on Mr. X’s shoulders as he pressed his face into the valley of its chest. Precum leaked from his dick, smoothing the friction between their cocks, hot and heavy and lewd. He could feel the sharp breaths and rumbling, rattling in his ears.

It made him want more. He ground harder and harder, leaving tiny bites and sucking marks into Mr. X like he was a dying man, casting his final will on the world.

Mr. X was struggling, again, thrusting its own hips weakly, letting out tiny gasps as it lurched to completion. The lovely cool was vanishing from it, as all the blood that remained rushed downstairs.

Leon rolled his hips one last time.

The heat bled out with his orgasm, shooting cum up his stomach. It was as if it contained all the energy he had left. His grip fell away.

He was only mostly aware when Mr. X shot its own load, splattering patterns over their stomachs (and some of Leon’s chest). Sweat dripped off his forehead.

_Snap._

Leon landed with a thud, as the cables finally snapped. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to move off Mr. X’s chest though. The orgasm had cleared at least some of the nervous energy and left him with the worst parts of the comedown; he was feverish, aching, and extremely tired.

Mr. X let him lay there. Ten seconds turned to a minute, before it finally moved, wrapping an arm around Leon’s waist, standing up and moving away from the snares.

A heap of containers and boxes crashed down. Several rusty scraps followed. Leon blinked at them.

Mr. X snorted, sitting with its back against the wall and Leon tucked under its chin.

Leon didn’t want to think about all the issues that would flare up when he woke up again. But god, all the chemicals in his body had _finally_ calmed down. And Mr. X seemed content enough. He sighed, wriggling to get more comfortable, and shut his eyes again.

At the very least, he hoped the fever would be gone.

 


End file.
